


Prime Steak

by TheFierceBeast



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Banter, Bickering, Crobby - Freeform, Demons, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Innuendo, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 06:23:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17299418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFierceBeast/pseuds/TheFierceBeast
Summary: For the prompt: "I've been speculating on Crowley's POV, the fact that he's been a demon around four centuries and definitely shares the joy, as it were. So would he be monogamous with Bobby or not, and if not, what would Bobby think of that? I think Bobby would worry about comparisons, since Crowley would be so practised in everything."





	Prime Steak

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WareWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WareWolf/gifts).



This isn't the first time that Crowley's taken a human lover, not by a long shot. Over the long decades that melt into centuries he's had more than his fair share (and he _is_ incredibly deserving) of bed companions... and floor, wall, rack, coffin, flaming pit - well, you get the picture. So many and varied, the breadth of species and genders, he's almost lost count: and Crowley has a very, very good memory. He rolls his neck, stretching. Smiles. Smooths the quilt cover, faded from years of washing, and teleports downstairs to fetch Bobby.   
Yes, this isn't the first time Crowley has taken a human lover, but it's the first time he's been quite so taken by one.  
  
The look on Bobby's face when he follows Crowley back into the bedroom is exactly as much of a picture as Crowley had hoped for, although it's not exactly the result he'd anticipated.  
"Who the _Hell_ is _she_?"  
Crowley's heart sinks, his balloon of gleeful anticipation popped by this sudden stab of confusion and disappointment. He tries to corral the situation back in hand. "Robert, this is Evie, Evie - Robert."  
"Miss." Bobby says, stiffly.  
Evie smiles, and Crowley knows _that's_ genuine. A flutter of desire recommences in his belly. She says, "Charmed, I'm sure. I've heard so much about you,” and bats long eyelashes in that way Crowley found so very winsome back in Hell that he just had to bring her to Bobby.

Bobby, for his part, just folds his arms across his chest and lifts his chin up and says, "That so?"

“Absolutely. Crowley’s told me alllll about your… talents.” She tilts her head and smiles, innocently, her hand creeping closer to Bobby’s thigh across the bed.

Bobby shuffles back as if she’s a snake coiling to strike. "Crowley? A word?"

His expression is not showing even the slightest hint of appreciation for his surprise and Crowley can only frown in confusion at how wrong this is all going. He musters a smile for Evie. “One moment, love,” and allows Bobby to turn him away from the woman on the bed, heads bowed conspiratorially together and Bobby’s voice lowered as if there’s any chance that’ll keep their conversation inaudible to a demon.  
"Who is she and why's she half naked on our- _my_ bed?"  
Crowley raises an eyebrow. "You like women don't you?"  
"You know I do." For some reason, Bobby sounds really, really angry about the fact.  
"And you have to concede, our friend here is very attractive."  
"I got eyes don't I?" Bobby bites out. He peeks back at Evie, and she flutters them both a coy little wave. Crowley preens, pleased. She really is beautiful, all curves and big, brown eyes, exactly the type he knew Bobby would go gaga over.  
"And you've not done the nasty with a lady for quite a while." Crowley observes, casually.  
"Crowley..." Bobby glances at her again, doing that blushy, squirmy thing that Crowley finds so delicious on such a big, strong bear of a man. Obviously embarrassed for his dry spell to be outed in front of a lady. "Why do you think _that_ is?"  
Crowley shrugs, genuinely perplexed. "Damned again if I know. It's not like you're not a catch."  
"Because I'm...” He lowers his voice further, an infuriated hiss. “I'm with you now, jackass."  
"I'm well aware of that. You've been with me for quite some time now. Months, in fact. That's why I thought you deserved, you know…” He graces Evie with a brilliant smile. “A little treat.”

“A little…” Bobby’s mouth opens and closes, speechless. His cheeks have got that high colour he gets when he’s angry, or horny, that Crowley just adores. But when he places a hand on Bobby’s arm, Bobby just shakes it off, irritably. "You bring a stranger, into my house, into my _bed_?"  
"Well if you'd at least stop yelling for a moment, we can work on making it so she's not a stranger anymore!" Crowley shoots back.  
"Boys?" Evie gives them another little wave.  
Bobby ignores her. The volume of his voice has definitely risen. "She's a demon!"  
" _I'm_ a demon!"   
"Boys!" 

“ _You’re_ an asshole, you filthy-minded sonova-”

“Well that is just charming! Please remind me never to try and do something nice for-”

" _BOYS_!" Crowley cuts off, mid-huff, to look at Evie, now kneeling on the bed, hands on her hips. "OK, fuck this noise. If he's not into it, Crowley, I'm out."  
"He's into it." Crowley casts a daring glare at Bobby.  
Bobby narrows his eyes and leans forward and God, why is he so damnably attractive even when he’s riled? It’s enough to give Crowley wasps in his tummy. "He is _not_ 'into it'." Bobby hisses.  
He does seem, Crowley has to concede, really very not into it. He feels his face fall. "Really? You don't like your gift?"  
Evie exhales a loud, long-suffering sigh and rolls her eyes. "Laters." On the click of her fingers, all that is left atop the bed is empty space.

Crowley and Bobby exchange a _look_.

“Now, would you please mind telling me exactly what in blazes was goin’ through your thick head, pullin’ _that_ stunt?”

He looks terribly aggravated. Crowley licks his lips. Moves to smooth his palms down Bobby’s shirt front, then thinks better of it. "I just thought you might like a little variety in your diet, so to speak."

That, oddly, seems to knock the wind from his sails a little. Bobby’s voice is quieter, more hesitant, when he says, "You think I'm gonna get bored of you?"

"Please.” Crowley flicks a dismissive hand. “Nobody gets bored of me. But even if you can happily eat prime steak every day, it's still better if that's not _all_ you eat."

Folding his arms again, Bobby regards him keenly. "Prime steak, huh?” He licks his lips, too. Mirroring Crowley’s gesture of a moment ago, and Crowley knows what _that_ means. “You're more like waffles. With cherries. And chocolate sauce. And lotsa...” Is it Crowley’s imagination, or is his voice getting a little rougher? “Whipped... Cream..."

Crowley takes a step closer. “Waffles?” His voice is a pleased purr. “What are you implying? Are you trying to say that I’m sweet? Or just that you want me in your mouth?” He gazes up at Bobby, their chests almost touching. But the expression of longing that’s crossed Bobby’s face, the slow blink as he looks down into Crowley’s eyes, doesn’t look entirely comfortable.

“I’m sayin’ you’re bad for me but I still can’t resist you.”

"Sweetheart. I'm warning you. You're making me hungry."

"Is that right?" Still not entirely happy-seeming, but surely convince-able…

Crowley reaches up, trails a fingertip down between the buttons of Bobby’s shirt. “I can be very, very good for you, you know…”

And, inexplicably, Bobby’s expression saddens once again. He exhales a quiet sigh. “Sometimes I think you couldn’t be good if you tried.”

“And why would I want to try that?” He attempts playful, but receives only a rueful smile in return. It’s a little unnerving, to see quiet in place of customary crankiness. “Robert… what’s wrong? I thought we’d be disgracefully occupied by now.”

“Nothing’s wrong. More than usual, anyhow.”

“The creaking of those mental cogs is practically deafening.”

“It’s just.” He lifts his cap to scratch his head, tugs the brim firmly back down again. “You think I’m gonna get bored of you? Ain’t the other way ‘round more likely?”

“Me? Get tired of you?” Crowley gives an amused little snort. “Did you miss my ‘prime steak’ speech just then?”

“Well, much as I’m enjoyin’ the extended meat metaphor…” He makes an impatient gesture as Crowley’s smile tilts up at the first hint of innuendo. “ _Crowley_. You’re a demon. You’re centuries old. You do what you want: Lord knows you remind me of that one enough.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Crowley asks, “And your point is?”

“My point is, I’m just some guy, and eventually you’re gonna get tired of me and move on.”

Sincerity doesn’t suit him, Crowley thinks, any more than self-deprecation does. So why does Crowley feel so… _feeling-y_? “Firstly, you’re hardly ‘just some guy’ – I’ve seen your soul. I’ve held it. Tasted it.” The memory accosts him for a moment, a heady wave of possessive desire that’s not entirely lust-based. He clears his throat, collects himself. “Secondly: why on earth would I tire of you?”

“I’ll get old. I’ll die.” He sounds a little regretful. Pensive, like these petty concerns are actually still a problem, now he has Crowley to look out for him.

“And? I’ll bring you to Hell with me. Find you a nice new meatsuit of your choosing. Recreate your current one, even.”

“You’d keep me in Hell?” Aghast, that.

“Darling, I’d get you a door key cut, don’t make it sound like house arrest.”

“That’s not what I meant… I…” Maybe not aghast, then. Maybe something more like awed.  “Since we’ve been… y’know. Bumpin’ uglies.” It’s so cute, how he’s still awkward like this at times. Crowley is so distracted by it, he almost misses Bobby asking, “Have you seen anyone else?”

Oh. Oh, dear. “By ‘seen’ I assume you mean in the nudie sense?”

“Yes.”

Crowley lingers on his reply. “This feels like a trick question.”

“Just answer me, Crowley.”

“I could lie, you know.” He cocks his head as Bobby pinches the bridge of his nose, rubs a palm across his beard. Crowley sighs. He knows that this is the wrong answer, even if it’s the – ugh – _truth_. “Alright. Well – yes, of course I have. Demon?” Bobby’s displeased expression is expected, but Crowley hadn’t been counting on him looking quite so _deflated_. “It really didn’t occur to me that it would be a problem. We never discussed this.”

“We’re discussin’ it now, asshole.” Bobby snaps.

“I’m getting the impression that you’re not happy with me _seeing_ other people.”

“You think?” He sighs, again, rubs a hand across his face, again. He sounds, suddenly, defeated. “Ah, balls. What did I expect?”

It’s a surprise to Crowley, this sort of dropping feeling inside. Like he can’t bear to see this human disappointed. “Would you… like me to _not_ see other people?”

Bobby raises his gaze to the ceiling, and shakes his head. “No, Crowley. You do you. You said it yourself: you’re a demon.”

“That doesn’t mean I have no impulse control. Credit me with some restraint, do.” He looks up at Bobby, curiously. Places an encouraging hand on his arm. “From now on, if it’s what you want, I’ll stick to steak.” Why does he feel so anxious? So eager for a mortal’s approval? If Crowley thought too long and hard on it, it might be unsettling, but for now he just wants Bobby in a good mood again, or whatever version of ‘grumpy but amenable’ passes for a good mood with him. It’s strange, but he realises he means it, the monogamy thing, at least for now. Other company, he ponders, he can take or leave - but Bobby’s is strangely, deliciously addictive.

They’re both quiet for a while, the emotions warring on Bobby’s face, until after a moment he smiles, reluctantly. “How the Hell do I feel like the jerk in this scenario?”

Crowley lifts one shoulder in a graceful shrug, a smirk tugging the corners of his lips. “Now that we’re going steady and all, do I get to… wear your ring?”

“Jesus, Crowley.”

“I’m talking about sex. I’m asking if you’ll let me stick-”

“Yeah, I got it.” Another eye-roll, exasperated but fond, and Bobby is pulling Crowley into a hug. “Come here. I hate you.”

Crowley rests his head against Bobby’s shoulder. Submits to being embraced, smiling a little triumphant smile against the soft, warm flannel of his shirt. “Darling, you say the sweetest things.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy belated everything, Warewolf - sorry it took longer than I anticipated! x


End file.
